


Lucky

by Bette



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Liam's One Shot: Song of the Lorelei (Critical Role)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:07:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bette/pseuds/Bette
Summary: From your prompt -  "The Moonweaver is the goddess of secret trysts in dark places."  Just a quick pre-canon (both canons!) look at how a Moonweaver ritual might begin.





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liebchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liebchen/gifts).



The Moonweaver is the goddess of secret trysts in dark places.

No one ever asks about this part of the ritual. Lucius isn’t even sure that it is still a ritual that is kept, but just in case it is he has taken four ships to find his way here and travelled through the dense beauty of the Menagerie Coast looking for information from those who had it to give until finally, on just this last possible night, he finds himself sitting and staring at a harvest moon shining over the beach of Brokenbank Isle. 

At midnight, he picks himself up from the sand and starts toward the thick trees, led as if by Sehanine’s own hand through the dark unknown of it and to the only clearing open wide enough for the moonlight to spill in. Then, of course, he waits. 

No one comes. Perhaps he’s missed his chance, or the ritual really isn’t kept any longer by those who follow The Moonweaver in this part of Exandria. Perhaps he was interpreting the ancient texts in his own temple incorrectly. Still, he is here, and he can wait until sunrise. Lucius Lorelei is a patient man.

He is deep in his own thoughts when the footsteps fall behind him, barely able to keep himself from jumping out of his skin when a hand lands on his shoulder but when he turns to look the man standing above him could have been born of the Moonweaver herself; the young face and the vibrant skin, the edges of scars that Lucius cannot trace fading him back into the shadows around them. 

“Lucien,” He says, reaching for Lucius’ hand to pull him up. 

For a moment, Lucius isn’t sure that he’s introducing himself, the irony so acute. Then he laughs and offers, “Lucius,” as he settles on his feet. 

“Hrm…” A soft huff and laughter that sounds like chimes and then, “Lucky, that” this lithe aspect of the Moonweaver who calls himself Lucien says as Lucius feels himself being pulled in close. 

Lucky. 

And for this night, at least, he is.


End file.
